The Language of Flowers
by goddamnitcarl
Summary: "Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart." - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
1. Chapter 1

_Daydream_:

It was a sunny Tuesday when my mother decided my siblings and I had too high of fevers to go to school. That was a fucking lie. They took us to Georgia that morning, telling us that we'd get to play in forests and look at deer and be in the one place we all could be free. Daddy said we were lucky we caught the red-eye flight landing directly in Atlanta because of all the delayed flights later that day.

I remember us driving in a big black SUV down a long, never ending road until we came to a halt in front of a large, metal Cherrie and Uncle Benji were what mommy and daddy called 'extreme enthusiasts'. The believed in the zombie take-over, which is the reason behind the 9 foot stainless steel wall surrounding their large estate. It went two miles around the perimeter of the house leaving us tons of space for forest play in the safety of our families crazy world.I have that wall to thank for the safety of my family for the past 4 1/2 years.

**_❀ The World Is A Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die ❀ _**

. Swinging my sword, occasionally taking down a walker, I whistled a little tune I remember my mother singing to me before all this happened. Today was quitet on the streets, enabling me to make a trip to one of the abandoned stores for whatever I needed that was on my list of needed goods. I opened the front door to the store quietly, not to stir up the walkers that might be reposing. One by one I stabbed them in the head as strolled past their sluggish forms. I put my sword away, reading labels and grabbing things as I went along. I made the mistake of letting my guard down, I only realized this then I heard someone step behind me and point a loaded gun to the back of my head.

"Put your hands above your head...slowly," my eyes squeezed shut as I did what the voice told me to do, heart thumping so loud they could probaly hear. "That's good, now, turn. Around." In the prossess of following directions, I felt the person lower their gun as I nearly tripped over my unlaced combat boot laces, making me look foolish and my eyes, I came face-to-face with a boy a bit taller than me wearing a sherrif's hat, bright blue eyes and longish brown hair. He had a look of determination written all over his face making him appear older than he probably was. He was so fucking _attractive_.

"Uh...I-I'm..Sorry?"I watched him grin a bit, bringing light and youth back to his face, "I think I scared you enough. I'm sorry. I'm also Carl Grimes." He held out his hand, my eyes locking in on his longish, slim fingers. I placed my dainty, elf-girl hand in his nodding a bit,

"Teagen Dita." Something flickered in his eyes, something like he was interested by my name alone. I noticed our hands were still clasped together, making me blush and tug my hand free immediately trying to truck a wild curl behind my ear. A crimson color flooded his ears, neck and cheeks, probably causing heat rise to his face awkwardly."Are you alone?" His eyes flicked to my sword, to behind me then back into my eyes. I gave a curt nod, thinking of the seven nooses still strung on one of the trees.

"Well my family and I, plus some, are staying in a prison not too far from here. My dad will ask you three questions and determine if you're safe to stay with us or not, would you be willing to come? More people means better protection..." he shuffled his feet back and forth, looking down at me with a hint of child-like wonder playing in his orbs. I pondered, and gave him a nod."I have an abundance of food at the house I'm staying at that I could bring, I know it's hard to bring a new person in as another mouth to feed." Carl nodded, his grin stretching, offering his arm to me. 'Well let's go, my friends are probably waiting for me." I cautiously placed my bony arm through his, falling into step with him as he led us out of the side door to where a green car was parked, two adults leaning against it.

One of them had a large black cross-bow on his shoulder and the other, the woman, strapped a white-handled sword to her back."Daryl, Michonne. This Is Teagen, she's alone, safe and has extra food. I offered her a place in the prison, let's go." He laced me in the car, scooting me over to the back middle seat so he could climb in next to me. I heard muffled 'what the hell's from the man and woman before they climbed in the car, shooting a look at Carl who just fiddled with his hands staring out of the window. "It's about an hour or two's ride back to the prison." I looked up at the woman who spoke to me, kindness dripping from her eyes.

"I love your curls. They're beautiful." with that she sat forward, earning a confused stare from the man with the vicious looking cross-bow.I saidwhispered thank you, pulling my bag to my feet, opening it to grab my tattered, torn and ancient copy of Remembrance of Things Past. "What's that?" Carl's husky voice sent shivers down my spine, and our proximity made goosebumps rise all over my body. I could listen this boy talk all day if I could. I would. "Remembrance of Things Past it's about...well, it's a collection of stories and motifs." I glanced at him through thick lashes, mostly staring at his pink lips, wanting to see how would they feel against my chapped ones. I want to see if they would send those fireworks exploding in my brain. "You want to read it? I know it by heart.." I placed the book in his lap, clasping my hands together. He nodded thanks cracking the book open.

.After a few minutes of watching him read the pages, flip the pages, repeat with a permanent look of general confusuion on his face, I placed my head on his shoulder, turning my body so it was facing his as I drifed off to sleep. I remember stringing my finger through his belt loop before my mind drifted away.


	2. Chapter 2

two.

Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Tea: [tay-yaa]

Carl woke me up when we got to their base, tons of people thriving within the prison gates. There was plants, pigs, horses, life. Small children, no bigger than me, ran around, laughing as the infected reached for them behind the gates. I saw a man with a greying beard and Carl's eyes pull him aside and have a few words with him. What ever this man said put Carl off. He stomped off without a glance to me, after pulling his hat over his eyes.

"My name is Rick, I need to ask you a few questions to determine if you can stay or not." I nodded, understanding before I followed Rick into a building. He sat me down in a metal chair, standing before me, hands on his hips.

"How many walkers have you killed?" His southern drawl made him sound upset. "Tons." He nodded, "How many people have you killed?" I thought back and counted.

"Three." I had to.

"Why?" His eyes were like steel, strong and hard, his voice heavy. "_They broke the rules and got in the way._" A small smile slipped across his face before he held his hand out. I stood before shaking his hand.

"Welcome, Tea".

* * *

I brought my stuff into the cell Rick gave me, I didn't pay mind to which block I was in though "Because the Woodbury block is overflowing, I'm putting you in my block. Don't make me regret it." Nodding, I sent him a small smile before slipping into my new cell.

I threw my bag on the cot, sitting with my back against the wall. I cursed myself for getting the short genes; I watched my feet barely dangle off the bed, resembling little kid feet. My sisters always teased me about my height as each day they and my twin brother grew taller and taller like Amazon people, much like my parents.

I really do miss my family.

Christmas was always the best time of the year in my house. The air smelled of gingerbread and warmth, and we'd always be smiling. The year I turned 8, my parents knew I wouldn't stand for children books or books made for kids my age, I wanted real classic books people in my grade couldn't pronounce, or at least something useful. That Christmas, that year my sisters got more clothes, all matching as always, new shoes, things they'd wear twice at the most. Taren got more history books to add to his ridiculous collection of them, and I got Fungi of our Fields and Woods, that year I learned about all the different kinds of fungi.

* * *

I drifted out of my cell later that night, hearing the sound of a bell and footsteps. Following a herd of people, I noticed there was a kitchen area in the cafeteria, where people lined up to get food. I followed them, feeling like a new girl in school, standing in the front of the room scanning tables for friendly faces that would welcome the new girl. Seeing none, I slipped outside where I sat by the plants, admiring them as my hands arranged my food so it wasn't all touching.

"You know, that's weird, arranging food like that. people might think you have OCD." it was that voice again. Carl. I didn't bother with looking up. "I do have OCD." I went through years and years of constant teasing about my fastidious food habits.

"Oh, I'm sorry," his voice said awkward, not sorry. "So...you like plants?" i saw in my peripheral vision he gestured at the potted plants next to me and the crops.

Shaking my head, making eye contact with him, probably making him more uncomfortable, "I love plants, I wanted to be a botanist when I grew up." The confusion on his face told me he was clueless. "It's someone who works with the science of plants, or their biology. I specifically want to do botany illustrations, like the ones you see in the nature books from the 1800's." He nodded, looking at the large leaf spilling out of the pot next to him.

"Well it's good you actually had a plan for your future, I have no idea what I want..." sadness and regret, maybe, leaked from his voice. And with that, he left, shuffling back inside, hat covering his beautiful eyes.

_**A/N: Just a filler, I originally had a different chapter for this story, but a review from someone (which was helpful, thank you) made me make the choice to re-write. thank you! **_


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